Nivens Solution

R owan stared at the man who'd given him life and so much more. "I won't let you down, Papa," he whispered as he kissed his father's forehead.

"He loved you," Daisy said as she snaked her arms around his waist and lay her head on his back.

"Even when I was at my lowest ebb, he never lost faith in me," he replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. "He and Niven together forced me out of my nightmare. I'd be dead if it weren't for you, Papa and Niven.

He glanced over at his sister, sobbing in her husband's arms. "It's as well she has Niven to console her because I'm too shaken to be of use to anybody."

Even as he spoke the words, he knew Daisy would help him cope with his grief and take up his new role as the Duke of Withenshawe.

The physician shook his hand. "May I offer my sincere condolences, Your Grace," he said.

The challenge Rowan faced suddenly became all too real. He clenched his jaw when a commotion in the hallway shattered the silence. Anger constricted his throat when a disheveled Ash staggered into the chamber and loomed over their father's body. "Wake up, Papa," he urged. "It's Ash."

Even in his inebriated state, Ash quickly realized his father couldn't acknowledge his presence. Her face wet with tears, Willow was staring at him as if he had two heads. Niven was shaking his head. Rowan's fists were clenched. Trouble was brewing and Ash was in no fit state to deal with recriminations. He hadn't realized his father was at death's door. Was it his fault he'd arrived too late?

Rowan was now the duke. Ash's brother wasn't a patient man. The anger contorting his face didn't bode well. It would be pointless to offer his help managing the dukedom. Rowan had always made it abundantly clear what he thought of Ash's capabilities. He sometimes got the feeling Rowan had finally decided not to succumb to his severe injuries just to prevent Ash inheriting the title. Not that he wanted it.

"Why didn't you send to my club?" he demanded, giving in to the turmoil roiling in his belly. "Very convenient you happen to be here when Papa passed. I thought you were on your honeymoon."

Daisy gasped.

Ash regretted upsetting his new sister-in-law, but what were the newly-weds doing at Rochevaux Abbey ?

"Ash!" Willow exclaimed.

To Ash's disappointment, Rowan unclenched his fists. A good brawl was perhaps just what was needed to clear the air but, apparently, the new duke had decided to rely on his usual sarcasm. "Unlike you, Daisy and I were concerned for Papa so we stopped here on our way home. We thought our visit might cheer him up."

"You were wrong, obviously," Ash retorted, gesturing to his father's body.

He stepped back, ridiculously pleased when Rowan growled and raised his fists.

Niven intervened. "Stop this. Show some respect."

Rowan backed off. "You're right. We have a funeral to plan."

Grief suddenly punched Ash squarely in the gut. His beloved father was dead. He fled the house, finally falling to his knees in the grounds where he wept until he could weep no more.

"I'm at a loss what to do about Ash," Rowan admitted as they adjourned to the drawing room, leaving the physician and the nurse to care for his father's body. "He's going to drink and whore himself into an early grave."

"Willow willna tell ye this," Niven said. "He's started bringing women home."

"To the townhouse?" Rowan exclaimed, ignoring the stern glance Willow shot at her husband. "So, Papa's threats to cut off his allowance had no effect."

"I hope ye dinna think it presumptuous o' me, but threats willna make him see sense. A drastic change is needed."

"What do you suggest?" Willow asked.

"Send him to my brothers in Scotland. They'll sort him out."

"And what would he do there?" Rowan asked. "Besides drive them mad the same way he's driving me mad."

"Tavish would put him to work in the distillery. He'd be too worn out by the end o' the day to do anything but sleep."

Rowan had his doubts, but Daisy had advised seeking Niven's help. His brother-in-law had a knack for seeing the obvious solution to complex problems. "What do you think, Willow?"

"I don't think he'll go willingly," she replied.

"He will if 'tis the only way to keep his allowance," Niven suggested.

The plan had merit. "Will your brothers agree?"

"I'll pen a missive on the morrow," Niven replied.

Ash startled awake, his hand going to the painful crick in his neck. At first, he wasn't sure where he was—then he remembered. He wasn't sure how long he'd slept but the grass on which he lay was wet with dew. Grief and shock had exhausted him.

Lights flickered in the house which meant his siblings and servants were likely still up. Returning inside would mean endless lectures and recriminations. He couldn't blame Rowan and Willow. They were grieving too. But he had to clean up and change out of his damp clothing before facing them. In the gray light of dawn he made his way to the stables, shook his driver awake and boarded his carriage back to London.

Despite huddling in the travel blanket, he was still shivering when they reached the townhouse. He'd never felt so alone and cursed Thorne for abandoning him when he needed him most.

Relieved Willow had finally fallen sleep in his arms, Niven thought back on his long association with the Duke of Withenshawe, a man he should resent for the part he'd played in Niven's abduction by the Three Trees. Yet, since first being introduced to the duke by his cousin Kenneth, Niven had come to realize William Halstead had been a better father to him than his own late, unlamented brute of a sire.

When unshed tears clogged his throat, he turned onto his side in bed so as not to wake Willow.

When the King brothers first arrived in London, Kenneth introduced his fellow duke to them as a potential investor in their distillery, but he'd turned out to be much more than that. While it was true the Halstead family had profited from the investment in Uachdaran whisky, the free transportation from Dundee provided by Withenshawe Shipping had contributed greatly to the mounting profits.

Willow's father had eventually come to see the abduction was a foolish, misguided attempt to keep Niven and his daughter apart. But he'd gone beyond approval of their marriage and made Niven part owner of the shipping company. He'd seen potential Niven's own father had never seen. He had come to London a green lad who tended to drift along in his older brothers' wake. Being entrusted with management of Halstead's ships had made a man of him.

"My thanks, Yer Grace," he whispered into the darkness. "I'll miss ye."